


And The Penny Drops

by GracieBirdie



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gentle Peter, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieBirdie/pseuds/GracieBirdie
Summary: Stiles (doesn't) get hit by a motorcycle but Peter (does) take him to the hospital.





	And The Penny Drops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/gifts).



> Somanyofthekids asked: If you’re feeling it, I’d love to see you do the prompt about getting hit by a motorcycle and refusing to go to the hospital because of a test, for Steter?
> 
> (takes place in an alternate season 3A future, like always.)

“Stiles, if you don’t agree to go to the hospital with me I will _pick you up and carry you there_.” Peter bit out, sounding angrier than Stiles had ever heard him.

“You and what army?” Stiles asked, rather nonsensically considering that Peter was a werewolf and more than capable of just picking Stiles up and carrying him off.

Stiles appreciated Peter’s concern for him, he really did, but he had to get to his test, _he had to_. It was worth 10% of his grade. If he didn’t take the test - and pass it - he wouldn’t get an A in his Photography class, and he’d been working his ass off to get and keep high grades in all of his classes, electives or not. It would be ridiculous to lose a letter grade just because Peter Hale wasn’t looking where he was driving his - frankly hideous - motorcycle. (Stiles was sure he’d only gotten it to piss Scott off, not that he had to invent ways, his face was usually enough.)

“What are you even doing here? Although I’ll be the first to admit you creeping on college students is better than creeping on high schoolers. Sort of. But I’m all for this character development.”

From the way Peter’s eyes were considerably more blue than usual Stiles suspected Peter was close to wolfing out in public, and he should probably stop pushing his luck. (Stiles was not going to stop pushing his luck. Because then life would be _boring_.)

“I was bringing Erica her laptop. What were _you_ doing walking in the middle of the street?” He stepped closer to Stiles, leaving his ridiculous motorcycle lying forgotten in the middle of the road, and reached out to take hold of Stiles’ hands, looking them over with narrowed eyes.

“Bringing Erica her laptop? That sounds suspiciously nice of you. And I most _certainly_ was _not_ in the the middle of the street. I was in the middle of the crosswalk. A perfectly reasonable place for a pedestrian to be.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes as Peter started to gently prob at his head, probably trying to feel if the back of Stiles’ skull had caved in or something. Honestly Stiles thought he was freaking out over nothing.

And okay so Stiles hadn’t exactly been looking where he was going but it was a one way street, he’d just kind of...been looking the wrong way. _But_ Peter had swerved. Stiles had only fallen over out of surprise. And to stop himself from tripping over a fallen motorcycle which sounded like it would be painful, and he might have scraped his palms when he’d caught himself on the road, and he might have, maybe, bruised his tailbone, but he definitely didn’t have a concussion even if he had bumped his head against the pavement. He was a little dinged up, but it was barely anything. He’d had worse car accidents.

Stiles might have felt - almost - fine but Peter looked genuinely distressed, usually he didn’t even blink if Stiles’ tripped. Of course, Peter had never been the one to hurt Stiles before. Most of the time he even went out of his way to step in if Stiles was about to be hurt, using his werewolf-ness for the greater good. (Peter called it his preferred act of charity.)

Stiles was just glad to have a few less bruises even if he knew Peter was an opportunist and he only did it to reaffirm his place in Derek’s pack. Stiles knew Peter needed the pack to keep a relatively even level of sanity but most of the other members weren’t comfortable with him getting too close to them, partially because of his occasional unpredictability but mostly because of his general assholery. Stiles had been unofficially elected to be the ambassador to Peter because he too was unpredictable and an asshole.

It had quickly turned into a mutually beneficial relationship; Peter got a solid and supportive pack member while Stiles got unlimited access to Peter’s impressive library and Peter’s help with just about anything so long as Stiles was able to make it sound interesting enough.

Obviously this little almost run-in had shaken Peter. Stiles was almost, _almost_ , tempted to let Peter take him to the hospital just to make him feel better about the whole thing. But he had a test. And he probably didn’t have a concussion.

“Peter.” Stiles said in annoyance as he batted away the hands that were creeping down his back, probably checking for cracks in his spine or something, which was something he most certainly did _not_ have time for. “I’m absolutely fine and I have a _test_ . I have to go, _right now_ , or I’m going to be late.”

Peter got a furious glint in his eye that Stiles recognized from the time he’d tried to walk around the preserve with a twisted ankle.

“No!” Stiles said firmly, backing away from Peter with his hands raised to ward off the approaching werewolf.

“You’re going to potentially compromise your health over a _test_?” Peter asked, his voice dangerously low as he slowly advanced on Stiles.

There was a little crowd of bored college students gathering around them and Stiles would really rather not be subjected to the embarrassment of having Peter resort to throwing Stiles over his shoulder, which he would most definitely do. Plus someone might call the police. He’d absolutely have to go to the hospital if a deputy showed up or, god forbid, his _dad_.

But Stiles was not going to go gently into that good night. He made one last ditch effort to distract the other man. “But your stup- _practical_ motorcycle!” He gestured franticly over Peter’s shoulder at the bike still laying, very illegally and dangerously, in the crosswalk. “If you leave it there it’s either going to get stolen or _towed_ ! If it gets towed you just _know_ the paperwork for it will get tragically misplaced!”

Stiles’ dad seemed to be under the impression that Peter was planning something nefarious (which was admittedly possible) and went out of his way to create annoyances for Peter to deal with. Stiles was in complete support of his dad being a petty bitch to Peter, and he _did_ have to admit it was kind of odd that his dad was one of the few people Peter went out of his way to be civil with. Especially when dealing with some inconvenience his dad had made up. It drove Stiles’ dad crazy and was fascinating to watch.

Peter did not look at all interested in moving his bike, probably because he was well aware that if he took his eyes off of Stiles he would take the opportunity to make a - literal - run for it.

“Lost paperwork and a ticket is going to be the least of my worries when your father hears about this.” Peter said, quickly grabbing hold of Stiles’ flailing arm.

Using his tight, but not painful, grip on Stiles’ upper arm to hold him still Peter wrapped his free arm around Stiles’ waist and practically frogmarched him back to his car.

“And how, _exactly,_ is my father going to hear-” Stiles got cut off sentence by Peter abruptly sticking his hand into the front pocket of Stiles’ jeans.

Stiles squawked and slapped at Peter’s arm until he realized Peter was just getting the car keys out of Stiles’ pocket. Stiles lunged for them but Peter, _as always_ , was faster. He had Stiles pinned to the side of the car with one hand on the center of his back while he unlocked the door and then both hands pulled and prodded Stiles into the passenger seat of Stiles’ own car.

Stiles eyed the door and started to debate if he’d be able to open it _and_ get out before Peter noticed, but was distracted from his compilations by Peter as he (the fucking drama queen) _slid across the hood of Stiles’ car_.

Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands. _How_ had his life come to this? It was one thing to have a minor collision with a werewolf on a motorcycle but it was something completely different to watch said werewolf slid over the hood of a bright orange VW bug.

Stiles instantly regretted putting pressure on his palms as they started to burn, reminding him that he had most certainly gotten road rash. He winced and glared at them, furious with the realization that it would probably be painful to hold a pencil with them in the condition they were in. Maybe it was a good idea to take the day off. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Peter that, admitting that Peter was right about anything was never a good idea.

Stiles glared at Peter as he settled into the driver’s seat and glared right back at Stiles. “Seat belt.” he said as he pulled his own on.

Stiles ignored the pain in his hands as he pulled his seat belt on. Once he was safely buckled in he carefully crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to pointedly look out the passenger window. He could probably ignore Peter the whole 15 minute drive to the emergency room.

Peter drove Stiles’ ‘67 Volkswagen bug with more ease than Stiles did. Not that that was any sort of surprise, Peter had been the one who drove it up from San Francisco when Stiles’ jeep finally gave up the ghost and refused to start again. Three different mechanics all told Stiles he would have to replace basically all of it and it would end up costing thousand and thousands of dollars that Stiles simply did not have.

Stiles had spent a miserable two months riding his bike everywhere or begging rides off of his friends. (Beacon Hills was technically too small to warrant its own public transportation.) Until Peter found out and told Stiles he had a friend who sold used cars. It was actually pretty impressive how Peter had spun it.

He had graciously taken the five hundred dollars Stiles have saved specifically for jeep repairs and disappeared. (It was a good thing Stiles knew where Peter kept his ‘emergency running-from-the-law money’, otherwise Stiles might have been worried.)

Three days later he pulled up to Stiles’ apartment in a ridiculously lovely orange bug. Stiles, of course, fell instantly in love with the little car, there was just one small problem.

“That car did not cost five hundred dollars.” Stiles said flatly, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest.

“Of course it did.” Peter said, obviously amused by Stiles’ reaction.

Stiles eyes narrowed. “The only reason it would cost five hundred was if it didn’t run. And also didn’t have seats. Or an engine. Or tiers.”

“I assure you, it runs like a dream. It was worth every penny.” Peter said, his amusement growing in the face of Stiles’ annoyance.

Stiles whipped out his phone and one google search later found a vintage car show in San Francisco that had been held that weekend. He flipped through the listings until he found the car Peter had bought - or at least an identical one - and saw that it had sold for over fifteen thousand dollars.

He waved his phone at Peter and yelled “Peter I don’t have fifteen thousand dollars!”

Peter sighed and pushed Stiles’ hand away. “Yes Stiles, I know. You can consider it a rental, if that makes you feel better about it.”

That did make Stiles feel better. He relaxed and nodded in agreement. “Just until I can pay to get my jeep overhauled?” He asked, wanting to be sure they were both on the same page.

Peter started smirking again, no doubt well aware that it would take quite some time for Stiles to save up the money. “Yes Stiles. For however long it takes you to fix your jeep.”

Stiles should have been suspicious over how easily Peter had agreed but he wasn’t. Right up until the title came in the mail and Stiles saw that it was is his name, _his real name_ , without any co-owners.

Stiles had been furious and didn’t believe Peter for a moment when he claimed that there must have been some mix up at the DMV.

Stiles had threatened to drag Peter’s unconscious body to the DMV to get the title placed back in his name only for Peter to get genuinely annoyed with him.

“Stiles, I know you’re mad I bought you a car, but that’s what pack does for each other. They help each other. I knew you won’t accept it but it’s a nice car, it’s a good car, _and_ I know you like it, don’t even try to deny it. And if you feel you have to repay me, _which you do not_ , you can save me some of those chocolate peanut butter cookies you’re always making.”

Stiles didn’t just save Peter some of his super special secret recipe cookies every time he made them he also became Peter’s designated after-fight driver. That was one of the surprise upsides to having a smaller car, no more obligation to carpool with bleeding and whiny werewolves, just one bloody and snarky wolf.

Stiles supposed it made sense that Peter would want to take Stiles to the hospital after all the times Stiles had taken Peter home and patched him up after a fight. (Not that Peter usually needed patching up, more often than not Peter was the one patching Stiles up.)

He glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eyes, only to see the wolf frowning very intently out the front windshield.

Stiles chewed his lip for a moment before deciding that, actually, he couldn’t stay quiet the whole 15 minutes to the hospital. He was already in the car, his class had already started, there wasn’t really much point in staying mad anymore. Not that that was going to stop him, he was still pissed. “I’m fine, a doctor is just going to confirm it.”

Stiles watched Peter’s grip on the steering wheel tighten and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “We’ll see.” he said.

Stiles turned to glare out the window. He jumped in surprise when Peter’s hand curled over the back of Stiles’ hand, where it was resting lightly on Stiles’ bicep.

Stiles stared at Peter’s hand, watching the black veins appear for a moment before they disappeared as Peter moved his hand back to the gear shift. Tension went out of Peter’s shoulders and he sighed softly.

“Told you so.” Stiles grumbled. “You can just take me home, no doctor actually needed.”

Peter gave him a quick flat look before humming softly.

Stiles rolled his eyes and jumped out of the car as Peter parked in the emergency room parking lot. The faster he got this over with the faster he could get out of the hospital.

Stiles made his way inside with the easy of too many visits, Peter only a step behind him.

He checked in with the bored looking nurse at the front counter, glad that at this time of the morning - before noon - the emergency room was relatively quiet. Stiles settled into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, sure that the wait would still be long despite the lack of visible emergencies happening at the moment.

He wiggled around in his chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible as Peter sat down next to him. He finally settled down with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest, hood up and head leaning back against the wall behind him.

Roughly five seconds after he was as comfortable as he was going to get Peter wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him against Peter’s side.

Stiles huffed in annoyance but dutifully rearranged himself, he knew Peter wasn’t about to let Stiles out of his sight and if that meant literally holding onto Stiles to keep him from taking off than that’s what Peter was going to do. (The asshole.)

Stiles should probably be annoyed by this. Actually he should be furious over this but it was oddly...nice to have to have someone sitting with him. Stiles had spent a lot of time in the hospital (too much, too much to be really mentally healthy) and a good half of that time he’d had to spend it waiting alone. And even when with someone hospital waits are always too long and whoever Stiles was with, be it his dad, Scott or Ms. McCall they were there physically but they were _always_ distracted by something. Usually work or their phone. Stiles understood, he used his phone a lot while waiting too.

But the smell of the place. God the smell brought back too vivid sense memories. After...well, _after_ when he couldn’t distract himself long enough on his phone he tended to chatter at whoever was waiting with him. Before (before the stupid supernatural shit show that his life had become but _after_ …) Scott always listened, or at least he nodded along like he was listening, but his dad and Ms. McCall could only stand it for so long before they told him to calm down or started making excuses to leave the waiting room/exam room. Stiles eventually learned to just let his phone take all of his attention.

Stiles wiggled a little against Peter’s side and the arm around his shoulders squeezed gently before Peter slid his hand down to wiggle into the cuff of Stiles’ oversized hoodie. He felt Peter’s fingers curled around his wrist and tell-tale warm-fuzzy-sleepy feeling of having his pain drained, what little sting he was actually feeling anyway.

Stiles huffed deeply and burrowed into Peter’s side. If the werewolf was going to insist on snuggling with Stiles he was going to take full advantage of being able to lean against his own living breathing heater. But only because the emergency room was always too cold, not because it felt nice to cuddle someone ( _Peter_ ).

Besides, this was hardly the first time Peter had played snugglewolf. Stiles had fallen asleep in his shoulder a hand full of times when they were supposed to be researching or just spending ‘quality pack time’ together. This was just the first time it had happened in public...

He sighed and pressed his head under Peter’s chin, because he could, and muttered “If you don’t stop I’m not going to be able to accurately explain to the doctor why I’m even here.”

Peter just hummed softly and this time Stiles could actually feel it vibrating through Peter’s throat. Stiles thought about how odd the feel of it was against his cheek until the adrenaline rush of his and Peter’s near miss was finally fading, helped along by the extra-strength werewolf aspirin.

~~~

Stiles didn’t wake with a start like he normally would when waking up in a strange place. Maybe it was because the emergency room wasn’t actually strange to him, or maybe it was because the voice saying his name was familiar. Maybe it was both, he wasn’t sure. Either way he sat up and pointedly elbowed Peter in the stomach when the wolf held onto his wrist.

Once he was up he followed the mildly annoyed looking nurse to a exam room, hyperware that Peter was following him. He stepped into the room past the nurse holding the door open and turned to slid onto the exam table. He paused when he saw the nurse start to close the door in Peter’s face.

Stiles’ eyebrows rose in question and said, without really thinking about it, “He can come in.”

The nurse pursed her lips but didn’t didn’t try to stop Peter when he pushed the door open. He walked past her and sat down in the visitors chair in the corner, freezing glare aimed at the nurse.

She closed the door and proceeded to ask the standard the intake questions. He answered them easily and honestly, it wasn’t like there was anything he had to lie about, the last few months have been so boringly _normal_. School, work at the occult shop, more school, dinner with his dad, hanging out with Peter, Saturday dinner with the pack. Being almost hit by a motorcycle was the most exciting thing that had happened in almost three months.

Finally the nurse left to get the doctor and Peter oh so casually asked how school was going. Stiles shot him a glare before launching into a very long-winded explanation of why he was still mad, including pointing out that he was completely fine.

Peter, the bastard, just nodded along in agreement while looking mildly amused (like usual) until the doctor came in.

Seven minutes later Stiles had his hands slathered with topical anesthetic ointment, wrapped in bandages, and it was confirmed that he did not, in fact, have a concussion or a broken tailbone.

The doctor had also oh-so-kindly written Stiles a doctor’s note to give to the admin office Tuesday. (Because Monday was a faculty day, go figure.)

Peter, asshole that he was, literally dangled Stiles’ keys in front of his face and in Stiles’ pleasure over having them back in his possession forgot his couldn’t drive safely with both hands fully bandaged. He was glaring between his hands and his car when Peter strolled out of the hospital, smug self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Stiles leveled his best death-glare at him and asked, low and dangers “What did you do fucker?”

Peter gave him his best (worst) innocent expression and said “Asked them to send me the bill, why do you ask?”

Stiles didn’t even try to hide his fury. “Why are you always pulling this bullshit on me?” he asked, and he knew his voice was shaking but Peter could be so goddamn confusion sometimes it drove Stiles crazy.

“Stiles.” Peter said softly. He reached out and gently touched Stiles’ cheek. “It’s because I love you.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth in shock before whispering “Like..pack?”

Peter nodded and smiled gently before slowly leaning in to brush a kiss against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles blinked as Peter leaned back enough they could see eye to eye. “Do you kiss all your pack members?” he asked quietly.

Peter smirked at him. “No, not all of them.”

This was not at all how he was expecting his day to go. “Oh.” he said dumbly.

“Come on.” Peter said slipping the keys out of Stiles’ hand. “I’ll make you lunch. I’m sure you’ve only had those tasteless granola bars for breakfast.”

“Hey!” Stiles said defensibly. “You have to admit granola bars are way better than pop tarts!”

Peter sighed deeply and opened the passenger door for him. “I applaud your adult decision making.”

“As you should.” Stiles said primly as he slipped back into the passenger seat.

This time he was perfectly fine with Peter driving his car and in retrospect having Peter looking out from him when Stiles was being an idiot wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

He glanced at Peter and thought about his confession. It felt...nice. Not earth-shattering like he would have thought Peter telling him he loved should have felt, _would_ have felt years before.

Now he just felt oddly satisfied. Like it some foregone conclusion that Stiles should have seen coming a thousand miles off.

Peter caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. Stiles just smiled a little and said teasingly singsong. “You’re a _lovewolf_ now! A hugwolf, a soft-”

Peter cut him off with a low growl. “ _You’re_ insufferable.”

Stiles just laughed, not fazed in the least at Peter’s posturing. “Don’t front, you _love_ me.”

Peter groaned. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“Nope.” Stiles agreed, popping the p like the obnoxious brat he was. “You’re stuck with me snugglewolf.”

Stiles didn’t even hesitate to glare at the overly satisfied smiled Peter sent him. Stiles huffed and pointedly looked out the passenger window. Peter Hale: biggest ass in Beacon Hills. Why did Stiles like him so much again?

He felt a soft touch against his hand before Peter was putting Stiles’ hand on the gearshift and lacing their fingers together. Stiles smiled and figured that was probably way he liked him.

(Spoiler alert, Stiles was totally in love with Peter right back, he was just a bigger idiot than Peter was, which Peter, _of course_ , never let him live down.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it come prompt me on [tumblr](https://graciebirdie.tumblr.com/)


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